Not my timeline... clearly!

I am 26 and regardless of how many times I "think" I have this whole life thing planned out, I end up completely ass-backwards and am shown yet again, it is not "all about me" and is most definitely... not on my timeline.

Here's da thing...

When I came back from working on a masters program in Western Ontario, I was pretty much in a state of brokenness. I previously thought I knew exactly where my life would end up. I had people I barely knew approaching me and giving testimony to how ecstatic they were that I was "following my true vocation". Among the tangible reminders that they passed onto me prior to setting out east were a study bible, a Hebrew lexicon, and a promise stole.

The bible came from a dear 'soul' friend. You know... that person who you can sit in silence with and still feel refreshed? That was her. We could go for a walk or a cup of tea, and say absolutely nothing or talk about completely mundane things and yet, I would come away truly feeling confident in who I was: a beloved child of God. She had so much faith in me and where my journey was going, she actually gave me her study bible that was gifted to her at one of her ordinations by the Diocese. She had removed the plaque in the front that was inscribed with the details of her ordination, wrapped it up, and gave it to me on my last day of work in the office. I still have the card that she tucked inside the bible.

The Hebrew lexicon came from a lady who, when she went to school, went against the norm and studied Hebrew rather than Greek. For her, she thought that having a solid foundation in the history would put her in good stead for teaching others much of the same. As a youngin' who was not born and raised in the denomination I was seeking ordination, she wanted me to have a piece of 'history' to remind me that regardless of where I went or what I learned in my journey, I would always remember that to everything... there is a past... a previous way of walking, talking, and experiencing.

The promise stole - I have to admit - has been offered back to the individual who gave it to me, numerous times. However, the lady who gifted me the stole is absolutely convinced that (for the time being), *I* am the one who should have it in their possession. I have tried valiantly to convince her that really and truly... I have no need for a stole. Believe me... there are probably hundreds of people who get better use of this lovely and holy piece of fabric than I could right now. She continues to insist that I keep it tucked away in my Hope Chest for now. It actually has a crazy story behind it. There was a woman in the Diocese who was working as an Registered Nurse when she felt called to ministry. My understanding is that she was an emergency room nurse and was amazing at what she did. When it came time for her to be ordained to be a Deacon, she decided to sew all of her vestments and garments. And so, she stitched this beautiful white stole to wear on the feast of her ordination. From there, her ability in making priestly garments only improved and so she decided to pass this stole onto a future "to be ordained" individual as a "promise stole". The idea was that when this seminarian was feeling frustrated, down, or began to question their call, they could look at this stole as a promise that someone truly believed in the fact that God was calling them to ministry... as an encouragement to keep going... to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Fast forwarding a few years, I find myself looking for a spiritual director. Praying about it daily for weeks, I continued to get the same response... for some reason, I was supposed to ask this past-RN to lead me down the spiritual discernment path. She was not one of the Bishop-recommended people at the time and worked with the rough and gruff of our population as the priest in the inner city. A truly incredibly spiritual person. In leading the opening prayer in our meetings, she would say things that I resonnated so deeply, I would find myself startled by it. Things that I had only ever revealed to the Holy Spirit in prayer, would somehow find its way into her words. That was every confirmation I needed to know that it was obviously, right where I needed to be.

So imagine my look of being utterly stunned when another priest approaches me with this stole and tells me the story of how she got it and where it came from and that she prayerfully discerned that I was the next person to hold onto it. Talk about mind-blowing!

Anyway, these three things drove all the way from Alberta to Western Ontario with me and then sadly, four months later, they made the drive back. Currently all three are tucked neatly into my Hope Chest because the individual either doesn't want it back or I haven't quite figured out how to get it back to them without offending them horribly or letting them down because I clearly failed in the 'ordained mission' that they so fervently believed in for me. Some friends still think that in me holding onto them, it means that one day I will come to senses, beg forgiveness, and seek ordination once more.

So when I found myself in this state of brokenness, I had to figure out what it was that I would do with my life while I worked on that "healing" piece, recognizing that it would not just happen over night. What did I do? I applied into a two year, bachelor's program that would find me graduating as a Registered Nurse. The primary reason for applying was not to eventually save people's lives... but rather, give me two years of a completely secular education where I could slowly work on building up the inner strength needed to actually pray again or walk into a church home without that terrorizing feeling of wanting to run in the other direction.

With less than 1/4 of the program left, I find myself no further ahead spiritually. Sure, there have most definitely been obvious signs that God is still there and Christ is knocking on the door and the Holy Spirit becoming tangible in ways I would never have imagined possible... but the timing isn't right.

However, as I was completely focused on thinking that it was my spiritual life I had to heal in a matter of two years, I realized the other day that there is a lot of 'other' healing taking place instead... healing that brokenness that was present long before the spiritual desert. More about that in a later entry. But for now, I shall continue to feel truly, "on top of the world" because while the healing is not what I first anticipated or would have aimed for... it is truly more than I could ever ask or imagine.

Allo? Anyone home?

I, just like any other 'big sister', older cousin, or youth minister, have heard my fair share of knock knock jokes. And, although I don't admit it very often, I'm sure I went through a stage where I was annoying everyone within a 10 foot radius with the not-funny, annoying jokes. That was exactly what I was thinking about as we played music this morning.

After attending the Ash Wednesday service this week, I left with the feeling that the Holy Spirit is very much at work in a heart that is cracked, worn, and fighting off an infection. And slowly, as the service progressed, it became all the more apparent that little by little, the HS was beginning to pull the dead layers off to give air and light to the young seeds, hoping they will take hold of the soil and grow. Painfully necessary for new life to take up residence.

Today, I was part of a music ministry that really made me pause, stop playing (thank goodness others continued on), and question whether I am actually in control of this journey back or not. We sang a relatively newer worship song entitled, "Somebody's Knockin at Your Door"

"Somebody's knockin' at your door; somebody's knockin at your door.

Oh sinner, why don't you answer? Somebody's knockin' at your door.

Knocks like Jesus... somebody's knockin' at your door (2)

Can't you hear him.... somebody's knockin' at your door (2)

Jesus calls you... somebody's knockin' at your door (2)

Can't you trust him... somebody's knockin at your door (2)

Oh sinner, why don't you answer? Somebody's knockin' at your door"

So, taking this as a prompting, my reflection time for the next little while will be in tackling the big question: why can't I answer the door? Why did I opt for the comfortable music playing role today rather than attending an Anglican service? Why can't I get myself to go to the student 'Worship Room' tonight with other post secondary students?

Advice on why sinners are more likely to ignore or be too scared to open the door?

If I could make you tea

what would I say? What would we chat about? Would I ask you all about heaven and what God really looks like? Would I beg for details on the heavenly choir? Would I ask you who you've met and what you've done? Would I tell you how great you look? How strong and whole you look? Would I ask you if you remember me like I remember you? Would I tell you tale of how I met a boy and how I managed to graduate from University with a 4.0 graduating average? Would we take our tea for a walk? Would you like to stretch your legs or do you get a lot of exercise in heaven? Would I share with you the excitement of learning how to wakeboard, the last Harry Potter movie or the fact that our hockey team is going to win ol' Stanley this year? Would I tell you about my hockey team and how it is shaping up to be the best season yet? Maybe I would tell you about the job that I got and how wonderful the people are that I work with and ask you about your most favourite job?

Would we sit in silence and simply sip our tea, doing nothing more than enjoying each others company once again?

Or would you want to hear about what is really going on and how I'm doing? Would you cut down my "I'm good" with a hearty, "I know you're lying, what is really going on?"? Would I be able to tell you how it sucks because in theory, it should get easier to miss someone. But you, seem to be the exception? Would I share with you how painfully horrid the last year has been because it was mom and dad's 25th wedding anniversary, and when everyone was having a grand ol' time, someone asked about you and where you were? Could I tell you about trying to do everything I could to help Gramma celebrate her 70th birthday without you by her side? Or what about the 50th wedding anniversary that also would have been this year? Would you be open to listening to me cry about all the "what could have beens" over the past 3 years and how, time after time, I screwed them up - with exponentially increasing amounts of mistakes and never learned until after the fact - how incredibly wrong I was, both about myself and the situation?

Whatever the case might be, when the strained tea begins to pour out in our cups signalling the empty pot, I would stop talking. And there I would sit, on the side of the hill, and hug you until you had to go. Because really, that's all that matters. Is that everything else aside, you know that you are loved and missed and thought of often. And in all truth, no one really needs words to express that.

Until the next time, Cheers Grandad!

Mountain Hiking

I learned a lot from my piano teacher.  She taught me how to bend my fingers when I play to allow for a better sound and technique, how to play incredibly difficult turns and land the "big jumps" marked by various squiggly lines on the music, and how to count the highs and lows of the mountain each day.  

When I began babysitting/"hanging out" (her oldest son was too old for a "babysitter, but too young for being on his own with his younger siblings), I learned the importance of the "Mountain Night Routine".  When each kid was tucked under the covers, after they said their prayers and found their teddy... they needed to be asked, "what was your mountain climbing moment today and what was your mountain top?"  And, in turn, the kids would answer with a "high" from the day as well as a "low".  

This routine has since been adapted slightly for summer camps, evening retreats, and quiet reflective moments with various aged youngin's and as I sit at the bookend of a very long and wonderful week, I find myself pondering about the mountain top and the hike moments.  

Here's what I have so far:

Low: many late nights, only managing to stay awake by propping my head up with textbooks

High: I wrote the last exam yesterday afternoon

Low: Found out that an incredible and mentor for the past number of years is moving to take on a parish elsewhere and will no longer be an escaping, bus ride away

High: I had lunch/an afternoon with a co-worker I recently met and found the time flew by much too quickly... for it didn't feel like a new friend, but a soul friend in which I had a lot of catching up to do

Low: Another week has passed, another page turned without managing to make contact with 6 people I care deeply about

High: Felt compelled to read the story of Thomas and am reminded about the everlasting joy of the resurrection, with it's countless opportunities for new life, hope, and reconciliation. 

What are your highs/lows of the week?  Whatever they may be, may there always be a glorious sunshiny day to celebrate the many blessings (or, in our case today... a peaceful snowfall).  

F5: Cabin Fever!

Singing Owl, at RevGals posted this week's Friday Five by saying, Here in snow country we are settled in to what is a very long stretch of potentially boring days. The holidays are over. It is a very long time till we will get outside on a regular basis. The snow that seemed so beautiful at first is now dirty and the snow banks are piling up. Our vehicles are all the same shade of brownish grey, but if we go to the car wash our doors will freeze shut. People get grumpy. Of course, not everyone lives in a cold climate, but even in warmer places the days till springtime can get long. Help! Please give us five suggestions for combating cabin fever and staying cheerful in our monochromatic world?

Always having lived on the Canadian prairies where cold is... well... COLD, here are my suggestions for staying warm and sane!

5) Evenings (especially Friday nights!) are best spent curled up in a blanket, with a fresh cup of my significant other, Earl G. (spot of milk), in front of the fireplace.  The preference would be to watch the local NHL team, but as they are currently on the All-Star break, I suppose it will be a favourite movie instead.  

4) Games, cards especially - the glorious advantage to the world wide web is the ability to play Canasta or Crib with long distance family or friends.  And, always a joy to meet someone new with a slightly different strategy to the game.  

3) Drag out those unsorted photos and work on putting them creatively into that album you purchased a year ago, scrapbook, or make some generic greeting cards.  Very easy to do - and everyone has magazines, old flyers, cardboard paper, and glue!  

3.5) Write in one of these greeting cards and send a friend some lovely snail mail.  It is a cheerful thing to do, and I bet it would bring some warm cheer to your recipient as well!

2) Have a hot bubble bath.  This seems to help with anything and everything, but there is nothing like getting warm all the way through on a cold winters night.  Scented bubble bath, candles, and bath salts are always an added plus!

1) The number one thing to do during these long winter months?  Make a point of point of phoning someone that you haven't spoken to since Christmas (or before).  There is nothing like a conversation with a friend to make any long and cold night, just a wee bit more pleasant.  

Hm... thanks Singing Owl!  I am cooped up inside recovering from the events of yesterday, and I was slightly grumpy about it all.  Looks like there is more that I can do from a stationary position than what I first thought... hmmm... who can I send a card to?

Oh, Damn Mug of Blessed Tea!

When I got sick Nov. 06, my mum did what any parent would do for their loved, adopted child... research, research, research! In fact, it often surprised me that she knew rules about cleanliness, sterile environments, and general "good health guidelines" for chemotherapy patients before I was informed by my doctor, no kidding! However, I regret to inform you, that one of the pieces of information she read said that green tea, which is extremely high in antioxidants, was recommended for cancer patients. These natural chemicals help to flush the body of toxins that are hanging around, and when going through something like chemo, there were more toxins than my body could physically handle.

So... every morning, my mum would get up early enough to boil a kettle of water and steep a pot of this blessed green tea. I promise you, the green tea was more of a fixture in our morning struggle to get out of bed and convince myself that I wanted to live and chemo was the best method to do so, than "discussing" alternative destinations for the car to go in the morning.

Every morning... I would saunter downstairs with my backpack packed: my blanket (it rarely came out, but I needed to know it was there, just in case I had to spend the night), a book (occassionally a colouring book), my computer, ipod, and Booker the Bear (often stuck out the top). And, waiting at the bottom of the stairs was my mum - proudly holding a travel mug of that damn green tea. Most mornings, I would try to "forget" the mug on the counter before we left, but somehow, she knew. She would soon appear in the drivers seat with the darn mug full of that blessed awful tea.

To humor her, I always had to take a giant gulp (as giant as one can when it's still boiling hot) before I got out of the car each morning. I would slowly sip on it as I waited for the blood results, waited for the nurse, and waited to have the treatment start. However, as chemo does, it wasn't long before I traded that mug for a kidney basin; not having much in my stomach from the night before, and only a few bites of breakfast, my brain connected the green tea, to getting sick.

Psychologists have published numerous papers that declare taste aversion as one of the most difficult learned behaviours to break... AND, I am case in point. To this day, more than two years later, the very smell of green tea causes my stomach to churn and that lingering acidic taste to develop in my mouth. I know that logically, it doesn't make sense. My brain is fully aware of the fact that the chemo drug mix lead to the nausea and vomiting... it wasn't the green tea. And yet, at the same time, it is linking green tea with being sick.

And so, tonight, as I lay awake into the wee hours of the morning, I owe you an apology - oh damn travel mug of blessed green tea; I'm sorry... all those times I cursed you silently under my breath and wrinkled my nose at the thought of having to drink, one...more...sip... it was never your fault! But rest assured, oh green tea, I am working frantically on taste aversion reversal - so that one day, real soon, I may savour your lovely antioxidant taste!!

Author's note: As those of you who know me well already know, I have considerable difficulty sharing my inner most thoughts and feelings in a blunt, "out there" sort of fashion. I am not someone who can "let it all hang", though I am getting better at it (thanks to the HolyMitredOne who lead by example through life). Anyway, all this to say that a very, very dear friend is offering themselves as lovely company, a consoling ear and an experienced heart... and while I long to take her up on it, for my heart is heavy and my head is spinning, we would be meeting over a cup of green tea (not actual green tea, but there is another necessary component needed in order to be able to talk through it, but to that, I have a slight learned aversion, similar to the green tea). It seems that green tea is the necessary common ground, but I don't know how to say, "Please don't walk away, I just can't bring myself to drink a cup of green tea... just a little longer? I'm trying and training, for I long to be able to drink it again... really I am...